Best Phallus Poems
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
(for Virginia Woolf)
She wanted to buy some flowers but drowned Herself instead,
drifting along the ebbing flow of time, with warm
water cracking Her slim figure and airless lungs.
‘will I freeze the river?’ She thought, wondering if the trees
would still rustle in the wind if She wasn’t alive to notice it,
thinking if Her man’s heart would still beat if She could
no longer shock its rhythmical thump-thud-stop with kisses.
the wood was chopped down around Her home. The
veranda from which She surveyed the world was but
deafened by cruel hacking chopping and sawing at the
hands of men whom took Her feminine beauty away.
She became the water as She died, became the weeds,
became the bark that broke her own back, the pen and the phallus.
‘this isn’t purgatory’ She realised, ‘this is revenge and reward’.
‘I am a sacrifice to literature. I am a sacrifice for the word’.
from writer to death to glory to ink
to the lies under rocks uncovered,
to god to me to the taking of Her own life,
She is the paper in our very hands.
Shadow Play
While Freud sits at the mind end of the couch phallus in hand
shapes others’ dreams in unspoken imposition ‘must-abation’
analyses abuses his daughter in metaphorical incest projects
his own aggressive sexual drives and neurotic megalomania
Jung after killing the father figure sits with and under shadows
gathers the zenith of clouds rays collects collective conscience
unconsciousness retrieves ancient symbols propagates mythical
archetypes to archetypical conclusions reflects tainted sunshine
He forges gently I surmise poles and vaults of contradictions
opposites polar juxtapositions seemingly un-mutual mysteries
and ponders light and darkness tearing torn apart thus healing
in the complementing contrast of void change completeness
Where Freud posits polymorph perversity bit by sexual bitter
sweet bit in a bid for so called science of mind over matter Jung
morphs perpetual change crafted and cast through a different
lens admits to poetic licence narration oral traditions and growth
******** in mind not of the ***** castrated in fear not envious of
phallic dominance over clitoral defence wombs groomed entombed
by guilt transgression sexual submission shallow **** oral penile
ossification of flaccid resurrection Jung begs and offers to differ
In complex incomplete never-ending search a path from change to
change and beyond dialectical synthesis played enacted in parallel
processes and progressive psychological drama of a different kind
he much kinder more reflective less regressive and adventurous
Lets shadows erect and paint play dance reflect and move on
16th August
Unblouse your breast
Where to nuzzle and warm
Areola to moisten and mouth
Urgency need, I scarce was born
Unclothe me in all unrighteousness
Sing for me no lullabye
Fetus reflection in alabaster eyes
Yours will forgive me, so softly they plead
The call in my eyes , so loving beguiled
Answers my whisper
Inaudibly you whimper
Reaching for the hearth of your home
Furthermost far, the call of the grave
But if I should die, please bury me here
We slipped passed the guards, their caution neglect
Our passion en-garde, the phallus erect
Discover a pebble in fissurely crag
Rolling in wonders and nacred in pearl
Both of us crying exhortations of love
Loving ungainly like giraffe on the run
Speaking in gibberish, talking in tongues
Becoming immortal banging the drum
Surpassing the portal the bloodhounds unleash
I Mount Vesuvius, youre so within reach
Im falling for you in tubular bells
Demolition crawls
Pots and pans all over the place
Flaming torpedos pock-mark the Earth
Harpooning the squid in ink fibrillation
Ecclectic joy in sense celebration
Two souls arriving from deep within
In baptismal breath I was born once again
Big n hard
well babe its been big n hard,
the dumb retard?
wants planting in pleasures planting pot,
or bring some stole viagra,
just in case its not:)
get a keeper maybe should,
enhance his mood, stiff as wood,
the blood flow enterprising,
could be bloody mystifying,
as any phallus should,
yet babe im shagged, deflated bags,
me ball bags teste-fying,
get back you baitch,
can’t have an inch,
bo-didly aint supplying…
Don Johnson
I saw the rage in his gaze,
His seductive art
I felt his digitus medius, longing to write his name inside my ****.
He charged up as usual
Still looking little unsettled with a sudden crash of energy,
I wanted to escape the situation, but his grip was tight and manhood hard
Enough to melt me down and
Drown in his love
Bowing in front of him
like a slave for an individual.
I could feel his warm breath
on my already perspiring neck.
His phallus expanding
making me lose my sense.
With his each powerful thrust
I wanted to take everything off my soul
Deciding to surrender my body
In front of a beast, I collide.
After all the chaos he already caused
His eyes were clear and bright.
I was his trophy
He won, gambling his own life.
His pearl whites were giving me bruises
His rough palms were squeezing out my juices
His legs powerfully
Intertwined with mine.
His voice murmured in my ear narrating
His passion, sorrows, and mysteries he hides.
He collapsed on top of me and
I was still burning inside.
I felt unworthy of what was happening to me and his eyes kept reciting
"Darling, I love you!
You're mine."
He continued carelessly incorporating
his wildness in the purity of my life
Surely, he made me swoon over his voice
Reading my lips making filthy signs.
Over his obscene touch and erotic noise
It was the moment when I felt
I cannot take it more
I found my self engrossed even more in his crotch every time.
He knew what I yearned for
he gave it all to me slowly
tearing me apart.
His warmth lay on my belly
And we felt glued together for the rest of our life.
-Prithvi Gulati
Twas the night before my cousin's
wedding
He reluctantly gave in to the
bachelor party vetting
A burlesque, tawdry strip club was
the setting
Unbeknownst to him, the bridesmaid
was his appetite whetting
With gratuitous lap dance, began
the ribald feting
In drunken stupor, the enamored
groom his fealty forgetting
Released his inhibitions all of his
clingy garments shedding
Strode platform, in sync with
bridesmaids erotic moves duetting
In tantric rhapsody, she released
pheromones his testosterone
subletting
Enraptured with his riposte jaunts,
her matrimonial bond shredding
The enamored bridesmaid with lust
his bare essentials began petting
His betrothed parts to her
dominatrix will indebting
As the groom climaxed, his phallus
got entangled in her fish netting
Two truant souls now writhing;
spent body parts bloodletting
Dislodging their carnal chains, into
frothy night jetting
To hotel that lodged devoted bride;
their remaining passions bedding
Lurid, tawdry tryst not regretting;
but o'er bawdy exhibition sweating
Wedding contest
September 14, 2012
Sexy Love
Some say that love is when our rivers join on cotton sheets in mounting passion
when you and I share days and nights with Venus’ delta freely flowing
advance our bodies candlelit caress desires fit and fitting in all the latest fashion
when mingling waters splash the rocks and roll on tidal beaches growing
position musky gushes’ swelling delights’ passages in carefree physical obsession
when springs let loose in coasting caves change blushes into glowing
and we fulfil crescendo’s rhythmic interludes but do mistake loving for possession
Hard truths await when rivers dry turn flaccid stagnant trickle’s scorch our beds
when climate change in our hearts and mating souls abandoned lie exposed
our union built on quick sand crumbling walls fancy contortions immaturely spread
when flaking righteousness only amounts to shallow promises disposed
reveals the hidden secret of why rainy storm clouds erode the lover’s mindless head
when then and how and where the thirsty moonless plights are loathed
that reckoning deserves some thought when all else has been done and said
Sometimes our rivers flow below the earthy needs and wants flown in the wind
when fire’s pleasures kindled spirits need to join beyond sexual application
and thus all sensual heartfelt feelings have to be twined and twinned
when kindness compassion consideration might super-cede awesome copulation
the biggest phallus shapely **** augmented egos and shapely waistlines trimmed
when thinking conversations holding each firmly outweighs the grandest fornication
and then the river riders circle to sheet and intercourse in true love never dimmed
09th October 2016
You tightly-jeaned fellas
outlining your phallus
leave me amazed and a-ponder
I'm amused but bemused:
are there girls who have use
for what resembles a wee anaconda?
Do they worship your shrine
or it’s all in your mind
fed with waccies instead of good food?
It's decidedly viable
to have one more pliable
than the texture of old antique wood
Cold water well spiced
with big blocks of ice
may bring tears to your 'dmiring eyes
but your nuts in a wink
will shiver and shrink
from grotesque to a palatable size
FOR NETTE'S "IT'S IN THE JEANS" CONTEST
DELYSIA
Between The Devil and The Sea
( Scylla and Charybdis )
Cosmetic the creature cover girl
is accessible only at night
a picture female in her temple
laying askew on an alter ego
A de lux harlot in romantic rough house
a fetish target
frivolous nymphet with a rampant phallus
And the sinister will follow strictly incognito
In her sticky sexual paradise
blond peroxide sensuality comes by proxy
No virtues abashed
a blow up doll as she lays in prostrate sultry action
her deflowering for titillation
she is said to have a thing for perversion
this ageless angelica this strip teaser
the Molotov cocktail of her own euphoria
Down in the bawdy boulevard men ape their ardour
all mouth to mouth with the call girl
a fondle or a blatant grope
She’s a clock work courtesan to keep her from destitution
to feed the kids she considers herself to be an acquisition
smiling for the gratuitous exhilaration of playing the other woman
vogue with her etiquette indiscreet in the burlesque
self esteem is held between the food the warmth
and not much else
Merry speak, Father
As life sprouts forth within spring-
Priapic* flower.
A. Green
* 1. Priapic- Of, relating to, or resembling a phallus; phallic.
(for Jon Accomando)
mine was the last generation to be spanked. sensuous and real, w/ corporal punishment— at
least you felt something.
sadly, it too has been corrupted.
in the new violence no one raises a hand— eyebrows and whispers, an errant son reclaimed?
“fr yr own good. for your own.”
i am somebody’s son.
no.
i am in the living room, barely. the remote in johnny’s hand, an extension? new american
phallus, contoured to fit your palm.
push the button. change the channel. roll over and fall asleep. it’s all been said, done.
it’s the weight of history that crushes us. maybe a.d.d. will cure us of our inertia. maybe.
maybe is democracy in ashes.
no.
the cat is sleeping, quietly by the fire. i remember envying him once; a quiet life, pins
and needles— i was born for.
the cat is neutered. he spends more time licking himself now, and he’s grown fat.
we’re not so different really.
i am willing the embers from the fire in his direction.
i asked johnny once, “if you could make the world anew, shinny and perfect...”
his face lights up in anticipation. a million abstractions, he’s been waiting all his life.
“what would you keep the same?”
he doesn’t know.
“Television. I would keep Television.”
my face is gently bashed in.
oh, mild america...
one day, when the oil runs out and the apartment buildings reach the sky things will
change, they have to.
where there was silence—whispers. a fast talker now a lisper. whisper down the cities.
shudder down the buildings.
man’s love, man’s work- is made worthless. we’ve been pissing and moaning so long that
it’s coming out screams and yawns.
no.
blessed! we are blessed!
w/ suffering and desire.
w/ big macs and rubbing thighs.
w/ quiet eyes and shaky hands.
w/ heartache and lone.
w/ genitals in my coffee.
w/ 10,000 thoughts in my pockets.
the simulacra of the ‘good life’ is a pacifier. i’ve had enough.
no.
no. no. no. no. no.
in the living room i am empowered. i have willed an ember from the fire onto the cat.
kindly he remains asleep.
i told johnny “the cat is on fire.”
johnny nodded.
the cat continued to burn.
Sordid tales your eyebrows tell
Insinuations start to sing
Things we all know very well--
Say, did you miss my wedding ring?
You’d do you worst right here and now
A stealthy drink from your chalice
Want me to forget the wedding vows,
A mechanical bull with phallus?
Pursing your lips, parading your hips
All the while, I’m stifling quiet laughter
As if your fries and shake could eclipse
My seven course happily ever after!
Coworkers of giant ego
And undersized self-restraint
Have fallen prey to your libido
Flushed it all to taste your taint
But see, here’s the baseline reality
About my availability you’re mistaken
Unless my wife’s nonexistent bisexuality
You can magically awaken
Sure, maybe you can be a roast turkey slice
Between our marital sandwich bread
Or our fresh sushi covered in rice--
I shouldn’t joke; now you’re being misled…
But seriously, there’s nothing to discuss
What you’re implying just ain’t happening
Further coquetry is simply superfluous
Back to the regularly scheduled programming
And in closing, here’s what I’d do
If you’re looking for lifestyle enhancement
Instead of looking for married men to woo
Perhaps try some legit career advancement.
5/1/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
"It is the year of the coq"
Said Alice from Dallas
"Rooster rhymes with booster
and gallus with phallus"
Ladies, prepare for a goose
Grope Meister Trump's on the loose
Not one clucking request
Will ever feather your nest
The Russians gave him a boost
So Grope Meister Trump rules the roost
But if you follow his lead,
"You're fired", with no chicken feed!
The Coq struts and crows
But forgets what he owes
To everyone in the coop
Who did not know "dupe" from poop!
An Irishman with a small willy
Was hoping for nookie with Milly
Said, "I'll still make you squirm
with my tiny lil worm"
But Milly said, "Don't be so silly!"